In the Details

There is a sort of helplessness I fall into when people make plans for me. A sense that they will give me all of the information I could possibly need. I remember falling into that when I visited my friend Martin in Egypt. He had been living there a few years and had a real concern for my safety so as I would research things and tell him my plans he would tweak them, give me more context, or set me up from his end.

It made sense. He was there. He was accustomed to making plans for people. I was grateful.

Still, that gratitude ushered me into a sense of baby-like trust. Rather than my usual paranoia about times and places and things I should have, I just trusted that as I jumped on the back of the couch SOMEONE would grab me before I busted my head.

But that isn’t practical. And when people help you that doesn't give mean they are responsible for everything.

And yet...I found myself up at what felt like only a short time after the sun had gone down, barreling toward, I wasn’t sure where with a taxi that had been pre-arranged. I had my ticket and my luggage and my excitement. What I didn't have, I realized as I tried to enter the embankment spot for the Nile cruise I’d booked, was my passport.

You’d think I’d learn. You’d think I’d be vigilant about having all of the information necessary for me to get to where I’m trying to be when I travel. But I didn’t...learn that is.

On this trip so far I’ve managed to almost screw myself in this particular way twice. Trying to catch an overnight bus from Danang to Dalat (Vietnam) I waited for a a shuttle bus to take me to the bus station to pay for my reserved seat. It began to rain. There I stood with one of the women from my hotel, an umbrella barely covering us both, my overstuffed travel pack on my back (without the cover because I didn’t think I needed it until it was too late to bother) and an overstuffed travel pack on my front, shrinking and straining from the weight.

By the time I got to the station it was almost time for the bus to depart and I was fearful I’d miss my ride (requiring another night’s stay and this ordeal repeated in some ground hog’s day nightmare. I stood in line, smiled patneintly, and tried to give my name for the reservation. As the agent looked for my name, her patience seemngly as thin as mine, she looked up and asked for some number. About this time I realized I did not have hwat I needed.

I pulled out my passport to no avail and then pulled out my hotel inforatmino. Tht proved to be the best thing because one of the hotel staff sent me a message with the necessary information because she realizied she’d forgotten to give it to me.

SAVED!

So fresh in my mind, not even two weeks ago, why dd I ask my hotel to book my bus to Karatie, Cambodia, which they did with warmth and generosity. The man who booked it told me that in the morning the taxi would take me, free of charge, to the bus station.

Who knew there was more than one bus station? Who knew the driver had no idea where we were going?

The bus is scheduled to depart at 8am, by 7:45 we were still wandering aimlessly in the Siem Reap morning traffic. When I showed him the information I had I thought we had clarity. Instead, he stopped at a random travel agency (the touristy areas are flush with them) and we asked if they had a bus that could help me.

Four dollars cheaper than mine but three hours later on my departure (think of all the sleep I could have had) but booked and ready to head out into the world.

If I'm honest, the real reason I haven’t learned my lesson is because these episodes always seem to end well. In Cairo, the city’s whose heinous traffic was the reason for my ridiculously early departure, was just waking up as the taxi driver arrived at the port. I don’t remember why he stayed with me, how he knew I needed help (truthfully, it was probably at the thoughtful request of Martin or possibly just a person who recognized I was alone in a foreign place.

Seeing my face drop, my desperation, he offered to go back to Martin’s to pick up my passport that was locked safely, if unhelpfully, in the safe. Problem was, I didn’t have Martin’s phone number and he lived in a heavily fortified complex.

Still, that sweet cab drive drove through traffic, managed to somehow reach Martin, retrieve my passport, and send me on my way. I spent a week cruising the Nile, looking at the magnificence of Carnack and Luxor.

My idiocy has had no major consequence. And I am thankful.

Still, I hope this three hour detour is enough to finally teach me that attention to the details is necessary even if I'm not in charge.